


Dean Winchester is Heterosexual AF

by birdoflastsummer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cannon Verse, Dean/OMC (mentions), First Kiss, M/M, dean is bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdoflastsummer/pseuds/birdoflastsummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is straight. Ask anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester is Heterosexual AF

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit ridiculous, but I love him. I originally posted this on [my Tumblr](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com) but wanted to move it over here too. Enjoy.

Dean Winchester is straight. Ask anyone.

He’s in his element around women. Whether he’s smooth talking their numbers out of Starbucks patrons or buying them drinks at bars, Dean Winchester is a woman’s man. He likes curves and softness and _women_.

Men… unsettle him, somehow. There’s something about how so many of them are big enough to look him directly in the eyes when he’s talking to them. Or how some of them are incredibly strong. Like this one bartender — Dean spent about 45 minutes considering if his fingers would even touch if he wrapped both his hands around his bicep.

He almost asked the guy if he could try, but that would be ridiculous and could be misinterpreted. So he did what any normal person would do and rationalized that the man’s bicep was roughly as thick as his hotel alarm clock. So as soon as he and Sam got back to the hotel, Dean beelined toward the nightstand and wrapped his hands around it.

“Dean?” Sam deadpanned, watching Dean cradle the clock.

Fuck. It was so close. Dean’s fingers could just meet, but now that he had it in his hands, was this the best proxy for the bicep? It was such a close call that a centimeter would matter. Would he really never know?

Dean huffed. Now he’ll be thinking about it all night. And Dean will invariably end up getting frustrated and having to go to the bathroom to jerk off just to calm down.

Dean spun and gingerly held up the alarm clock for Sam’s inspection.

“Hey, uh, would you say this is about how big the bartenders arm was?” Dean asked casually, lowering his voice in a way that says _I’m asking because I’m a man._

Sam’s face made a quick series of expressions that made it clear he thought Dean was insane.

“I have no idea, Dean,” Sam said slowly. “I can’t say I noticed his arm at all.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Considering Sam was the smart one, he could be so obtuse sometimes.

Also men’s voices can be so deep, which he’s not comfortable with. Dean is big enough to acknowledge to himself that he will perpetually be in a pissing match with any man who has a deeper voice than him. But this is probably an evolutionary thing. He’s competing with other men for the attention of _women_.

One time he met a one cop on a hunt who sounded like an American Benedict Cumberbatch — Dean can still remember how his jaw dropped the first time he heard one of his interviews — and he subtly started pitching down his voice. At first the man didn’t seem to notice, that bastard, but eventually he caught on. He quirked an eyebrow at Dean, who smirked back, and then they continued on with their professional conversation.

At one point in the conversation Dean really nailed this growling sound in the back of his voice, and the cop chuckled in an equally deep voice and put in a hand on Dean’s arm in manly, low-voice camaraderie. Dean preened under the attention, until Sam came bumbling in and the man withdrew his hand. He glared at Sam for the intrusion, who looked perplexed.

“Scott here told me that the vic’s intestines were missing when police found him,” Dean growled once Sam reached them at the table.

Sam thumped him on the back.

“Are you getting sick? You sound congested,” Sam The Idiot asked, eyes concerned.

Dean flicked his eyes to the cop, who was grinning pleasantly, and back to Sam, eyes pleading, _don’t fuck this up for me._

Sam furrowed his brows, looking between Dean and the cop.

“As I was saying,” Dean continued, actually hunching his shoulders a bit and gripping the corner of the table to get the gritty tone he needed, “I think we should review the police photographs.”

“Want to do it over drinks?” Scott asked, throwing Dean a wink.

Dean’s hand abruptly slipped from the edge of the table and he narrowly avoided face planting onto it. He straightened immediately.

“What?” Dean says and _fuck_ , he forgot to lower his voice. It came off like a squeak, so Dean expertly covered it as a cough. “No, no. Best to do it in house. You know. Around supervisors.” A demon possessed Dean and made him smack Sam in the shoulder. “I’ve also got this old ball-and-chain.”

Sam looked mortified as the cop looked over at him in surprise.

“I’m his brother,” Sam interjected immediately.

Dean stared at him. What a fucking random piece of information to share at this time. Honestly, does Dean have to investigate this crime _and_ teach Sam social norms?

The cop, looking as confused as ever, left to go get some paperwork and Dean couldn’t seem to engage him after that. Stupid Sam.

Another thing that unsettles Dean about men is they have _faces_. Women have faces too, but men have extra stuff on their faces. They have scruff and sharp jawlines, which make Dean uncomfortable.

Like Cas’ jawline. The word ‘chiseled’ comes to Dean’s mind. It looks sharp enough to cut rocks. Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he feels a bit insecure about his own jawline. He knows what angles work best for him, but sometimes the extra chub makes itself known.

It was after one of the times that Cas healed him, just reached over and slipped his hand along his face as he poured his angel voodoo into his scratches and healed him up. Dean knew it was his chance. He’d been thinking about it for like four years. Not obsessively or whatever, just whenever he looked at Cas.

“Hey, why do you do that?” Dean asked, slightly lowering his voice and drawing himself up.

“Do what?” Cas asked, taking in the carnage around them.

Dean reached up and slipped his own hand along Cas’ jawline and cheek.

Fuck. It was scruffy. He’d always wondered if Cas’ scruff would be soft. His own five o’clock shadow was scratchy, but Cas’ felt nice. If it felt nice to his hands, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss? Would his lips get chapped? Maybe he could ask the next womanly woman he made out with to give him the full details on what it’s like to make out with someone with scruff.

But what if his scruff feels different than Cas’ scruff? He’s not going to ask some girl to make out with Cas. That’d be… no.

Cas blinked at Dean and Dean realized he’d left his hand on his best friends’ face for probably like five hours.

Dean summoned his deepest man voice.

“Um, just wondered why you heal me like that instead of—” Dean booped Cas on the forehead, like a social gazelle.

Sam looked like he was having a hernia.

Cas just tilted his head slightly.

“I guess I just like your jaw,” Cas said.

Fuck, his voice was still deeper than Dean’s. Dean felt unsettled for the next seven hours.

That was, until he went into a bar the next night, on St. Patrick’s Day. He knew exactly what his MO was this evening. He honed in on a lady at the bar and bought her a drink, feeling totally at ease. Sam and Cas sat nearby, with Sam giving Dean top-shelf bitchfaces every time he looked over to remind himself what Cas’ jawline looked like. Cas was going to town on whisky.

Once Dean charmed himself into her acquaintance, he got to the important stuff.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Dean whispered in her ear. She giggled and bit her lip. “What’s it like to kiss a guy with scruff?”

She looked momentarily startled, then her eyes flickered down across Dean’s face. Dean hadn’t had time to shave so he knew he was sporting a five o’clock shadow. She laughed.

“Hm, let me try it and find out,” she said, leaning in.

Dean backed away.

“No, no, not my scruff,” Dean clarified. “Just… in general. Is it different? Than making out with girls?”

Her eyes went wide, then she playfully shoved at his shoulder.

“Are you trying to get me to tell you if I’ve made out with girls?”

Dean stared at her, waiting. “Is it different though?”

The smile faded a bit.

“Yeah, it’s definitely scratchier,” she said slowly. “Sometimes itchy. But sometimes soft.”

God damn it, how would Dean know how Cas’ scruff feels to kiss? He guessed there were some mysteries he would never be able to solve.

The girl excused herself eventually, or something. Dean was too lost in his thoughts to tell for sure. Then something tan and Cas shaped fell into the seat next to him. Dean looked up and saw Cas, throwing back the last of his drink. Angel Cas was a grumpy drunk. Human Cas was a happy drunk. Angel-again Cas was surprisingly focused.

Even though Cas couldn’t really get drunk when he was all angel-mojo’d, his lips were tiled up and caused long dimples in his scruffy cheek.

“Dean!” he said over the loud buzz of noise. “It’s been said that kissing the Irish on St. Patrick’s Day is the same as kissing the stone in Blarney Castle. That’s in Ireland, Dean. Kissing the stone is supposed to give you eloquent and powerful speech.”

Dean blinked at him. What? But then Cas grabbed both sides of Dean’s face and pressed a firm, yet soft kiss on Dean’s lips.

Dean’s brain rolled over and entered sensory overload. He could feel how warm Cas’ lips were and while Cas’ perpetual five o’clock shadow wasn’t velvety soft, it sparked all of Dean’s nerve endings to life.

When Cas pulled away, Dean became aware that at some point he’d closed his eyes.

Dean licked his lips and blinked open his eyes. Forgetting to lower his voice, Dean asked, “eloquent and powerful speech time?”

Cas had a self-satisfied look on his face.

“You are bi-sexual.”

Huh.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, sliding his hand along Cas’ jawline as he pulled him back in.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, comment and I can write more. You can also follow me [here](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
